Love and Ethics
by Helena Clara Bouchet
Summary: In this alternative universe of Season 7, a drunken Christine seeks solace in Harry's arms after her break-up with Detective Guiliano. But when Harry rejects her, is it because of work ethics or something more? I do not own Night Court, its characters, Starry Night Productions, Warner Bros. Television Distribution, NBC, or their affiliates. Enjoy my first NC fanfic ;)
1. Chapter 1

Christine Sullivan read over the same case file for what seems like the fifteenth time.

"Oh great. Another assault case. And due to a breach of promise. Well, you and me both, sister!" she grumbled.

For the ninth time in two weeks, Christine's date with Detective Tony Guiliano was cancelled for yet another undercover stakeout. Before she came into work, Christine complained once again to Tony that he did not have to volunteer for every stakeout that there was. But Tony rebutted that he was getting close to nabbing a guy with mob ties, and that he had to use every opportunity to take him down. Frustrated, Christine chugged down the last of her Earl Grey tea and slammed her Diana and Charles mug on her desk. She looked at the clock. Part two of the Manhattan Court session was going to start in fifteen minutes.

"Well, I've better get going. Time to focus, Christine. Let's get through this court session without thinking of Detective Guiliano," she said, grabbing her briefcase to head for the courtroom.

Christine didn't know what went wrong. In the beginning, she was disgusted by Tony's crude manner and undercover disguises that made her recoiled. But after that first kiss, everything changed. Christine craved more of that man. She dated men who were as conservative or as _seemingly_ conservative as she was, but they all turned out wrong for her. And then, there was the most unlikely suitor: Detective Tony Guiliano.

On the dinner dates that they had, usually at an all-night diner, Tony would tell Christine of his numerous undercover adventures. She was taken by his bravery and prowess, and hung on to his every word of danger and intrigue in the seediest parts of Manhattan. Finally, his stories would turn her on, leading the odd couple to take the rest of their nights back to her place for some "undercover" adventures of their own.

But now, Christine barely saw Tony. They stopped having their late dinners, and only managed to see each other when he was off duty. And now, after making reservations for this Italian restaurant that she wanted to take him to, he cancelled on her, telling her he'll grab a sandwich in between the undercover job. Christine thought that she was getting the man of her dreams. He was the kind of man whom she read about in her romance novels: tall, dark, handsome, with long, wavy dark hair, adventurous, and always with a sense of danger about him. But unlike in her novels, the hero didn't whisk her away to a happily ever after. Instead, he abandoned her for more adventures. What luck can a girl have when a dream like that fizzles! If only a certain tall, brown-haired, lanky judge was not her superior and colleague...But Christine shook that thought away as she stepped off the elevator.

* * *

"Now, while I do appreciate charitable acts, I think it's safe to say that giving...'oral services' in the alley for 'donations' does not qualify as philanthropy," stated Judge Harry Stone, as the prostitute stood before him, popping her gum.

"One hundred dollar fine and time served," ruled Harry, with a bang of his gavel. "Mac, who's next in the winner's circle?"

"The People versus Myra Dobson, Your Honor. Arrested for disturbing the peace and assault at a local eatery," announced the court clerk, Mac Robinson.

Baliff Bull Shannon escorted the middle-aged, full-figured woman to the bench.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Prosecutor? Someone _fingered_ the other one's sandwich? Get it? Finger? Sandwich?" joked the judge.

No one laughed.

"Your Honor," began Assistant District Attorney Dan Fielding, "the defendant stabbed her former fiancé,a Mr. Harvey Turnbald, with a fork after breaking off their engagement."

"He promised to marry me, but he dumped me for some skinny blonde with braces!" exclaimed the defendant.

"Ms. Dobson, let your public defender speak for you," directed Harry. "Ms. Sullivan?"

"Your Honor, my client was promised by Mr. Turnbald that they would marry once he settled his mother's funeral arrangements. He reneged on his promise, which caused my client to temporarily be in an 'unsettled state of mind'."

"Is Mr. Turnbald present?" asked Harry.

"Right here, Your Honor," said the balding, middle-age, heavyset man approaching the bench.

When he saw Ms. Dobson, he stood as close to Dan as possible, making Dan's nose winkle at the victim's cheap cologne.

"And you know what, sir?" continued Mr. Turnbald, "'Unstable' does not even cover it. And now I got four pick holes in the back of my hand!" said the injured party, holding up his bandaged hand.

"I see, Mr. Turnbald," said Harry. "I also extend my condolences. When did your mother pass?"

Mr. Turnbald answered, "Twenty years ago."

Everybody's mouths dropped.

"Twenty years ago, sir?" questioned Harry.

"I was on a payment plan for her hedge stone, Your Honor," explained Mr. Turnbald.

"And now?"

"I just made the final payments today, but along the years, I fell in love with the funeral director's daughter."

"The skinny blonde with buck teeth," spat Ms. Dobson.

"Enough, Ms. Dobson! Now, how did we get to the fork incident?" asked the judge.

"Well," began Mr. Turnbald, "I thought that I would take Myra to our favorite restaurant to tell her about Cindy. That's the funeral director's daughter, by the way. I thought that Myra would understand, but apparently, she just can't see that I fell in love with someone else. If I knew that she was going to stab me, I would have taken her to a place without silverware. Like the Bronx Zoo or something."

"I would had found a way to push you into the lion's den, you scum!" shouted Ms. Dobson.

"And that's why I'm marrying somebody else, Myra! At least she's nicer to me and is not a shrew," countered Mr. Turnbald.

"At least I can pass for a grown woman and not a kindergarten!" roared the defendant.

"Order in the court," declared Harry, banging his gavel. "Now, Ms. Dobson, however distressing this is for you, stabbing a man with a fork is uncalled for."

"'Uncalled for,' Your Honor?" snorted Christine. "It's just like you men to say that when you don't want to be bothered with a decent, and somewhat conservative, lady who has plenty of love and fidelity to give, just for some ingrate to show up and say, "Hey Sullivan! I can't make it tonight. The Santinis are meeting with the Taratinos at Oglio's tonight, and I got to play busboy. Maybe some other time, huh?"

"Ten minute recess and Ms Sullivan? My chambers. Now!" said the annoyed judge.

Ms. Dobson turned to Christine. "Wow! You sound like you got it worse than me. But you know what, honey? Maybe if you loosen a few buttons at the top, you might just get somewhere with your guy."

"Listen to her, Christine," said Dan, staring lecherously. "She's making more sense now than she did with a fork in her hand."

Myra Dobson gave Dan a murderous look. "Keep talking, fathead, or I'll show you where else I can shove a fork!"

"Ms. Sullivan?" called Harry, impatiently.

Christine sighed and stormed off to Harry's chambers.

* * *

"Christine, what the hell was that all about?"

IF Harry was a curmudgeon, sixty-something-year-old, conservative instead of a baby-faced, thirty-something-year-old, playful, Mel Torme-loving liberal, Christine would be shaking in her heels. But then again, who would tremble before a judge who has a dartboard on his wall, a poster of Jean Harlow, and a mini fridge with peanut butter and Kool-Aid?

"I apologize for my rant, Your Honor," said Christine, solemnly seated on Harry's leather couch. "I've just been having a rotten day."

Harry sighed and leaned on his desk, arms folded, studying the lovely, but troubled, public defender. He saw her outbursts before and counseled her, but this time, something was different. Especially since it involved a certain detective that Harry privately envied.

"Come on, Christine. It's Harry. If something's bothering you, I like to know what it is so I could help. And I'm going to guess that it's a Detective Guiliano problem, isn't it?"

"Wasn't it obvious, Einstein?" she snapped.

Harry shrugged off her insult, but Christine knew that she shouldn't take her frustrations out on the guy who's been a constant dear friend to her.

"Look, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off. Or to behave unprofessionally in court. It's just...it's just that Tony cancelled our date for the ninth time in a row."

"The ninth time?!" exclaimed Harry. "Oh, Christine! I'm sorry."

"Well, we tried talking about it while we evaluated our relationship, but nothing changed. He would rather huddle in a dumpster and bus tables around gangsters than to spend time with me!"

"First thing, Christine: it's Tony's job to be a bum in a dumpster or a busboy to nab the bad guys. Second: you evaluate your relationships? Who does that?!"

"It's a way to keep our relationship intact. It's helpful to see the areas we excel, and the areas we need improvement."

Harry was going to debate that idea, but quickly changed his mind. "Christine, I understand that you want your relationship with Tony to work out, but you can't blame him for being dedicated to his work. You have to be patient with him."

"Harry, I've tried to be patient with Tony, but he's not willing to compromise. It's always like that with you men. You never want to compromise, you want things to always go your way-"

"Now wait a minute, Christine," objected Harry. "I've met and dated some stubborn women who insisted on having things their way, and I can tell ya, it's no picnic."

Christine sighed. "Maybe you're right. And maybe you're right about being patient with him. I just have to be more understanding concerning his work, that's all. And everything will be fine. No, Tony and I will be fine. Yes, we will be fine."

Harry smiled. Christine always loved Harry's smile, and the way that that mole at the corner of his mouth made his smile more appealing. But what was she thinking? She can't think of Harry like that! They're colleagues, and it would be unethical for them to get into a relationship. Sadly, she have always known that.

"That's the spirit, Christine! Now, let's go back to the courtroom and...somehow straighten out the Dobson case, huh?"

"Okay. Thanks for listening, Harry."

"Hey, that's what friends are for! Now let's go, champ!"

Christine flashed a smile at Harry as they exited his chambers. Harry caught sight of her shapely, stockinged legs and regretted the advice he gave her. He and Christine were perfect for each other. He knew that they were quirky in their own way, but they respected each other for it, even if her obsession with Prince Charles and Princess Diana had creeped him a little, and his corny jokes and magic tricks often put her off.

If only he was like Dan when it came to Christine. Dan never gave a single thought about ethics when it came to flirting with everything in heels and a skirt that walked into the courthouse, and Christine was no exception. Dan almost had his chance to sleep with her in return for saving her life at one point although Harry disapproved. If it was Harry instead who saved her from choking to death, would Christine had considered sleeping with him?

If he wanted to, Harry could have had his way with some of the women he came across during the work week, just by using his position as a municipal court judge to get a date. He didn't have as much power as a supreme court judge, but he was sure that the ladies would have been glad to go out with him. But ethically, and morally, he couldn't do that. It wouldn't feel right to him. Occasionally, Harry would captivate a date with his courtroom stories until the women abandoned him for telling a corny joke. At least Christine stuck around afterwards. Well, sometime she stuck around. He wanted them to like him for him. Good old Harry Stone who's sweet, loving, kind, and who longed for his public defender.

"Yeah, right," he murmered, ready for Bull to announce him back..


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening, after the court session ended, Harry paid a visit to Christine's apartment. Earlier that evening, he was informed that Christine had called in sick, and that he would have a substitute public defender until she returned. As far as Harry knew, Christine was the healthiest person he knew, and something about her calling in didn't seem right. So, he grabbed his hat and some take-out, and drove over to Christine's apartment.

He knocked on the door a couple times before he heard a strained voice answer.

"What?!"

Harry never heard Christine answer like that. This was unlike the woman he knew. But then again, he rarely visited her to know her demeanor outside the courtroom.

"Christine? It's Harry. I heard that you were sick, and I wanted to check up on you. I brought you some soup and sandwiches. Or rather _us_ some soup and sandwiches."

To Harry's shock, the always pristine Christine Sullivan answered the door with disheveled hair, red eyes and a bathrobe.

"Well! Isn't it the Honorable Harold T. Stone," smirked Christine.

"Hi, uh, Christine. Are you okay?" he asked, taking in Christine's appearance.

"No, Your Honor. Tony dumped me," she slurred, leaning against the doorway. "Are you coming in...or...are you gonna stand outside with the food?"

"Yeah, I'll come in," he answered, sliding by her.

Harry never saw Christine in such horrible shape. At that moment, she wasn't the cheery, confidant public defender who defended her clients to her utmost abilities, even if their defenses were unfounded. What he saw was a dejected soul in need of a shoulder to cry on, and Harry decided that _he_ would be that shoulder. He set the food on her table, noticing a bottle of vodka that was almost empty. While Christine struggled to lock her door, Harry swiped the bottle and discreetly hid it next to her stove.

"So, are you okay?" he asked again, awkwardly.

"Didn't you hear me the first time, Your Honor? Take a good, hard look at me. Doesssss...it look like I'm okay?" she snapped, stretching her arms for Harry to behold her.

"Scary, isn't it? To see your precious public de-FEND-der like this, huh? How about I give you a closer look of the world's most rejected woman in New York?"

Staggering towards him, Christine tripped over a stray shoe on the floor, causing Harry to jump to her rescue.

"Whoah!" he shouted, catching Christine in his arms in time.

"Harry, please, I don't feel like dancing," she whined, attempting to straighten herself.

"Christine, maybe we should sit on the couch," he said, taking her arm gently to lead her to the piece of furniture.

"I thought that we're eating, Your Honor. That's why you brought the food, right?"

"Yeah, but I think we should talk about what happened."

"Why? So that you can wag your finger at me for losing Tony, and lecture me on how I could have been 'more' understanding? Or is it because of the vodka bottle over there-where's the bottle?"

Ignoring her question, Harry seated her on the couch, and sat next to her, pushing over used tissues.

"Come on, Christine. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help you. Just tell me what happened."

"What happened was that you...brought me food," she slurred again, with a definite nod. "And that is veryyyyyyyy nice of you, Your Honor."

"I mean between you and Tony," he clarified, ignoring the vodka stench on her breath.

"What's to talk about? He said that it wasn't going to work out, that we were...toooooooo different!" she squeaked.

"I told him that I could learn to be more spontaneous and adventurous if he would just give me a little time to prove it. I even told him that I could cut the crusts off his sandwiches, to prove that I can go against the system!"

"Christine, you do that for kids, not for grown men," reminded Harry.

If she wasn't drunk, Harry would had mentioned that cutting the crusts off of bread would have little impact on society. But now wasn't the time.

"Well, some people don't like crusts! Oh, Harry! Look at what I've become! I shouldn't be like this over a man. I gave him my time, my heart, and I let myself fall in love with him, just to be dumped in the end. What's wrong with me that I can't get a guy to stay? Gosh, I hate my life!" sobbed Christine into her hands.

Harry put his arm around her and pulled her to him.

"There, there, Christine. There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. And everything's gonna be fine. Besides, that Tony don't know what he's talking about. Any intelligent woman who has the guts to defend people who alledgedly commits crimes is adventurous in my book. It just takes a special kind of guy to appreciate that."

Christine looked into his eyes, comforted by his caresses on her shoulder. "You mean that?"

"Would I lie to you?" he smiled, smoothing her hair from her eyes.

"You've always been so decent to me, Harry. Even when we disagreed."

As she leaned on his shoulder, Christine took in the scent of cologne on Harry's person that tingled her nostrils in a sensual manner. She started rubbing her thighs together, longing for Harry to put his hand between them.

"I want to do... _something_ nice for you, Harry," she said, silkily into his ear.

"Oh, gee, Christine, you don't have-"

Suddenly, Harry felt the tip of Christine's tongue lick up his jawline, followed by Christine sucking on the cool surface of Harry's neck, causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure and his lips to purse. As Christine's other hand massaged his crotch, Harry's arousal fought with his resolute to not cross that line that he and Christine had often seemed to tread so near.

"Harry, make love to me," she whispered, now rubbing his chest.

The words he waited so long to hear pierced his mind and heart as her ministrations aroused him further. He wanted her and he wanted her badly, but her breath reeked of alcohol and he knew that the sober Christine Sullivan would never be this blunt.

"Christine, why don't I take you to your room, okay?" suggested Harry, breaking from her touches.

Christine giggled, misunderstanding Harry's intention. "Well, I guess the couch isn't a good place for a first screw, huh? Well, onward, Harry!"

After raising a brow at what she said, Harry helped Christine into her bedroom and pulled back the covers. When Harry turned back to Christine, he found that she took off her bathrobe, revealing a black, sheer nighty that silhouette her body from the light in the living room.

"Take me, Harry. Make me feel desired," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Knowing that, in good conscious, he couldn't honor Christine's request, Harry pulled her arms from him and sat her on the edge of the bed to reason with her, only to be ambushed by her busy hands undoing his belt and pants.

"Christine, please! Not like this," pleaded Harry, gently pushing her hands away.

But Christine's blurry eyes looked up at him with lust, resuming her task. "Just give me five minutes and I'll make you so happy, Harry. I can do this, you know. I'm not that much of a prude as all of you think I am!"

When her hand reached inside his pants, Harry panicked.

"Christine, no!"

He pushed her away and left her alone, slamming the door behind him.

As he leaned on the door, fixing his pants, he heard soft whimperings from the other side that turned into a sob. Harry felt bad for the way he left her, but he tried to make Christine understand that he couldn't have her. He thought about leaving, but reasoned that she'll feel worser for it. Therefore, Harry put up the food in Christine's refrigerator, took off his shoes, hat, and jacket and laid on the couch, hoping that his public defender would be more forgiving and reasonable to speak to in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine woke up with a migraine and groaned as she tasted stale vodka on her breath.

"Ugh! My head," she moaned. "Darn you, Tony!"

As she slowly edged out of bed, she vaguely remembered Harry showing up at her apartment with food...and throwing herself at him.

"Awwww, nooooo! Now what does he think of me?!"

She fell back on the bed, throwing her hand over her forehead. She peeped at her alarm clock to see that it was past one in the afternoon.

"Oh great!" she mumbled.

Thinking that Harry left, which he had every right to do after what she did last night, Christine managed to get up to go to the bathroom. As soon as she opened the door, she heard a voice that she didn't think that she would hear until she put in her transfer request.

"Good morning, Christine!" Harry checked his watch. "Oh, I'm sorry. Good afternoon! Did you sleep well?"

She turned to see Harry using her microwave. Realizing that she was half-naked, she scurried back to her room for her robe and came back out decent.

"Harry?" she squeaked. "You've stayed? Even after...you know."

"Don't worry about that, Christine. It can happen to anyone of us. Orange juice?" he offered.

"Aspirins," she requested.

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out a pill bottle, and set it on the table. "Here you go! I wanted to minimize your movements, just in case. Come over and sit."

"Uh, I need to shower and brush my teeth," said Christine, wanting to keep her distance.

"What's the rush? Take the aspirins first to settle your head, eat, and then shower. It won't kill you to do so."

Christine nodded and sat at the table. After she downed two pills with orange juice, he put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before her from the microwave.

"I cooked them earlier, but I forgot that you might be sleeping in. I'm a half-way decent cook, you know. Enjoy!"

He smiled as he returned to scrubbing a frying pan at her kitchen sink. As she nibbled on her eggs, Christine noticed for the first time that Harry was wearing an undershirt and his hat. His arms were finely toned and she noticed the muscles rippling on his arms. She sighed as she imagined him getting dressed and putting on his judicial robe over that handsome physique of his.

"Well?"

Christine snapped out of her reverie. "Well, what?"

"How's my cooking?" asked Harry, drying the frying pan.

"It's good," nodded Christine. "I didn't think that you were that much of a cook."

"And so says the woman who nearly food poisoned the whole courthouse that one Thanksgiving, remember?"

"You don't have to remind me, Harry. I still cringe at the thought."

They laughed.

"Well, a single man has to have basic cooking skills to survive. I can't afford to eat out all the time, you know," said Harry, wiping his hands on the dish towel over his shoulder.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" he answered, sitting next to her with his own glass of juice.

"Don't you find me the least bit... attractive?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.

"Christine, you know how I feel about you, but you also know that it'll be unethical for us to date."

"That never stopped us from kissing before," she countered, shooting him a look.

"Well, we thought that we were going to die in that fire, and the other was a mistletoe kiss," said Harry.

"Yes, but they were more than they were. Don't you think that if we try, that something good could come out of it?"

"Christine, if people were to find out about us, it could cost us our reputations, possibly our jobs. And I still have those old flakes that would still love to have me out of there."

"So that's what it's about? The Old Boys' Club riding you? I would've thought that you had forgotten about that by now, considering that they did leave you alone."

Harry was silent, but it didn't take Christine long to figure it all out.

"This isn't about the Old Boys' Club, isn't it?"

Harry twiddled his thumbs, refusing to answer.

"Harry, is it me? If you really don't want me, just say it. At least you wouldn't be avoiding me like Tony."

"No," he answered quietly, "I do want you, but it wouldn't work out."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, puzzled.

"Because you don't like Mel Torme, but I do. You like Barry Manilow, I don't. You're into the lives of Charles and Di, and I don't care. I'm looking for every Houdini memorabilia that I can get my hands on, and like everyone else, you can care less. It just wouldn't work out, okay, so let's just forget about it."

"Harry, just because we have different interests doesn't mean that we're incompatible. I like magic, and Mel Torme did grow on me a little. We had a great time at a couple of concerts, didn't we?"

"You're were just humoring me," said Harry.

"No, I was not. I wouldn't sit through a concert of a singer I couldn't stand just to humor anyone. I like being around you, Harry. Even if I don't get all of your jokes, I love your presence. If you would've come to me first before Tony, I probably wouldn't had humiliated myself as I had. I think we could be good together if you gave it a chance. Harry, please give us a chance."

Christine's hand covered his, but Harry pulled away as though it burned him.

"I have to go, Christine. Um, the take-out I brought over is in your fridge. And, don't worry about coming in tonight. Take all the time you need."

He quickly dressed and left Christine, in her humiliation, once more.

After the court session ended that evening, Harry sat in his office, with his earphones settled around his neck, and his back to the door. He did it again to Christine. He left her hanging when she really needed him. Or rather, he rejected her love when she offered it. Why would he do that? It was right there for him to take and he ran out on her. He failed her. He failed himself. Christine may be the last woman with whom he would ever had had a chance. And now, he feared that he's ruined it for good.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" Harry called.

"Sir, it's Mac. I have some forms for you to sign," said the voice.

"Come in, Mac."

Mac entered the judges' chambers. He immediately caught on that something was bothering Harry.

"Sir?"

"Just leave them on the desk, Mac. I'll have them ready before I leave."

Mac closed the door and walked back to the desk.

"Harry? Something wrong?"

Harry spun around to face his clerk with that boyish, hurt look on his face. "I'm a big weeny!"

"Aww, sir! Did you get into an argument with that paperboy again over music?" asked Mac, shaking his head with his arms folded.

"Nope. And that kid just doesn't know good music!" argued Harry. "Last night, I went to check on Christine to make sure that she was okay and bought her some take-out."

"Doesn't she have the flu?" asked Mac.

"No. She called in sick, but she was reeling from being dumped by Detective Guiliano. And worse than that, she nearly downed a whole bottle of vodka. I tried talking to her, but then she threw herself at me and...and..."

"And what?" asked Mac, drawn into the story.

"And I...well, I-"

"Oh, sir! You didn't!" exclaimed Mac, disgusted.

"No, no, Mac! Not at all! I would never do that to Christine. It's just the way that I let her down. I rejected her in her drunken state, and I did it again when she was recovering from her hangover."

"How you'd do that?" inquired Mac.

Harry explained to Mac what he and Christine discussed, concerning a possible relationship. Mac considers everything Harry told him.

"Yep, you were right before, Harry. You are a big weeny."

"But wasn't I right to say no, Mac?"

"Well, Harry, I can't speak for your conscious, but I can say this: you and Christine are the most geekiest people I've ever known. Yes, you got your differences, but at the same time, you do compliment each other."

"How?" questioned Harry.

Mac heaved a big sigh. "Christine's uptight. You're the fun-lovin' prankster. She dresses up for court. You wear jeans and a colorful tie. She loves china tea sets with possible pictures of Charles and Diana on them. You love rubber chickens and magic tricks. In other words, go get her, tiger! That is, sober."

"Very funny, Mac. But what about ethics?"

"What about them? Some people would say that a judge who treats his courtroom like a a game show is unethical. Others would say that a judge who shoots rubber arrows at the assistant district attorney is unethical. Or what about a guy who stood on a ledge, half-naked when his lady friend threw his clothes out the window-"

"I get it, Mac! You know, ever since she started seeing that Detective Guiliano, I couldn't help but wonder why didn't I step in before she even set eyes on him. But of course, ethics! And you know what, Mac? You're right! I've survived the judicial review board, and Christine and I will survive whatever comes. Stay where you are, partner! I'm gonna sign these forms and ride by moonlight to my fair maiden's apartment."

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" praised Mac. "And sir?"

"Yeah?"

"You can't sign with that silly straw."

Harry laughed at himself as he put his silly straw back into his soda bottle, and picked up an ink pen and went to work.


	4. Chapter 4

As Christine got ready to settle down with a late snack and a book about men being jerks, she heard her doorbell rang.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"Pizza delivery," called a gruff voice from outside.

"Yes! The pizza is here! Now, let's see: book-check. Ginger ale-check. A cuddly kitty-check. And pizza at the door-double check!" she giggled.

But as soon as she opened the door with her money in hand, her smile faded to a look of disgust when she saw Harry holding a pizza box.

"Hi, miss! Did you order a large pepperoni?" laughed Harry.

Christine slammed the door in his face.

"Come on, Christine! I had to pay extra to deliver it myself. Christine, I came to say I'm sorry for what happened this afternoon. You know, you were right when you guessed that there was more to the story than what I said. I would like to explain myself. Would it help if I retained you as counsel to have your confidence?"

Exasperated, Christine sighed and opened the door. "You better have a darn good explanation in hand, pizza boy. Speaking of which, how did you know I ordered pizza?"

"I ran into the delivery guy downstairs and asked where the box was going. Great kid! But like I said, he charged me a pretty penny for delivery."

Christine allowed Harry to come inside. After she shut the door, she turned to Harry, intending to listen to his explanation.

"Alright, Harry, say what you have to say and get out," she stated, arms folded.

"Well, that's rude, counselor, considering that I am more than willing to throw myself at your mercy. But first, let's eat. I only had a peanut butter sandwich tonight."

Christine couldn't believe that this man who rejected her, not counting when she was drunk, was taking plates from her cabinets and setting the table. However, she was curious about his reason for acting like a jackass to her, so she calmly sat down at the table while Harry served them both. Reluctantly, being a good hostess, Christine offered Harry her last bottle of ginger ale from the refrigerator (and hating herself for it) as she chugged her own bottle as they ate. Once there was nothing left but pizza crusts and empty bottles, Christine cut to the chase.

"Alright, Harry. Explain yourself."

"Okay. Christine, tonight, I realized that I'm a big weeny who made the mistake of causing pain to a woman whom I've been secretly in love with for four years," blurted Harry.

Christine was dumbfounded by this revelation. "Huh?"

"The truth is," began Harry, "is that I'm afraid to love you. The truth is that I used ethics to be a buffer between you and me, and yet, I get jealous every time you mentioned Tony's name or when you get excited over your dates with him while I watch you leave the courthouse with him. The truth is that...I'm afraid that...that...you'll get bored with me and leave me."

The final revelation unguarded Christine. Harry rejected her out of fear of being rejected by her.

"Harry...why did you think I would leave you?"

"Oh, come on, Christine! In some shape or form, I was dumped or used, and honestly, I'm sick of it. I know that I don't have the best jokes in the world and I know that I can be corny and old-fashioned. I know I'm not the best-looking guy in the world or the bravest like Detective Guiliano, but at least that I would have spent time with you when I said it. I would have never stood you up like he did. Why would I when I would have had the best gal in the world who's classy, intelligent, beautiful, and interesting. Christine, will you please forgive me and...be my girl?"

Christine didn't know what to say about that. Throughout this whole time, he loved her. He loved her, but different factors kept them apart.

All that she can say was: "Oh, Harry."

She reached for his hands on the table and this time, he let her touch him.

"Harry," she said, smoothing a stray tear from his face, "you don't have to be afraid of me leaving you. Ever. And I do forgive you for being a big weeny. I don't know what the future holds, but I want to go into it with you, no matter what happens. And if we end up...not working out, then it'll be because it wasn't meant to be. Let's try together."

Harry answered her with a kiss. For Christine, it wasn't the kiss of a prankster, but one of a man with longing in his heart.

"Harry, make love to me," she said.

Harry stood up and offered Christine his hand. "Lead the way, darling."

Christine took his hand and led Harry to her bedroom. Her room was illuminated by one lamp.

"So, uh, what do you _like_...to do?" she shyly asked.

After realizing what she said, Christine lowered her head in embarrassment.

"Oh, my gosh! I sound like an inept prostitute!"

"Fifty kisses and the whole night under the sheets, counselor," announced Harry.

"Harry!"

"Just trying to ease the nervous atmosphere a little, Christine. It's been kind of building up between us for years, wouldn't you say?"

Before she could answer, Harry drew her into his arms for a kiss. Christine felt a tug at her robe, followed by Harry's hands roaming her hips and opening her pajama top. She moaned as Harry massaged her breasts.

"In all these years, I've never dreamed that I would be with you like this," whispered Harry in awe. "Remember when you had on that witch's costume? And I told you that it did something for me?"

Christine nodded. "Yes."

He pushed the robe and pajama top off her shoulders and kneeled before her, beholding this voluptuous woman before him. His hands snaked around to her back, slowing unhooking her bra. Both of them sighed after the last hook was undone, and Harry slid it off her torso. Like the little boy that he often acted, he stared at Christine's breasts with open-mouth wonder as he carefully traced the circles around her nipples.

"I don't think it was just the costume," he concluded resting his head against her stomach.

"Harry?"

He looked up.

"Let's go to bed."

Christine turned back the beddings and finished undressing. Harry watched her, appreciating every aspect of Christine's exposed flesh. He quickly got undressed, falling to the floor as he struggled to get out of his sock garters and socks. Christine, who was already in bed, peeped over at her new-found lover.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

Harry, in his boxers and undershirt, crawled on top of the bed and under the covers next to Christine.

"I'm okay. Just excited," he weakly smiled.

Their eyes roamed over each other's bodies.

"So, how can you make me happy in five minutes?" Harry asked, with his lips pursed.

Christine gave him a seductive smile as straddled herself onto Harry's lap. They shared sensuous kisses with tongue exchanges as Christine ground against him until he hardened. Then, with a naughty smirk, she ducked under the sheets, sliding down Harry's body. She pulled off his boxers and took in his anatomy with slow strokes of her tongue. Harry's head snapped back in ecstasy as he moaned, enjoying the sensations that he haven't felt in years. He felt like a sixteen-year-old boy in the back of his dad's car again. Suddenly, she slid back up his body, leaving him stagnant in his climax.

"Christine," he breathed, suddenly alarmed at her stopping.

"How can you make me happy in five minutes?" she inquired.

He turned her over on her back, kissing her down to her breasts, her navel, and finally to her most secret part, returning the favor done to him. Harry's magical tongue caused Christine to moan and whimper in pleasure as she gripped her pillows, nearly digging her nails into the pillowcases. Suddenly, Harry came from under the sheets, positioned himself, and thrust forward in steady strokes. With every thrust, Christine became dizzy with pleasure. She fantasized about Harry many times, but she never knew that it could be this sensous and, oh, so good.

"Harry," she moaned.

"My Christine," he whispered.

He licked her neck up to her chin and thrust harder, making Christine's legs shoot up, shaking. She dug her nails into his back, forcing him to peel her hands away to pin them on each side of her head as he pumped harder into her. Finally, he came with a shudder and collasped on top of her. Christine laid there, staring up at the ceiling in a daze, catching her breath as she ran her fingers through Harry's hair.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too, my love," she whispered back.


	5. Chapter 5

_Several months later..._

At 10 o'clock one evening, Christine left her bedroom to answer a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" she called out, tying her robe.

"Sullivan, it's Tony," answered her ex.

Christine was taken aback at the return of the man who broke her heart months before. But wait until he sees her little surprise.

When she opened the door, Detective Tony Guiliano's face dropped when he noted the expanded waistline of his former girlfriend.

"Sullivan, you're-you're-"

"I think the word you're looking for is 'pregnant'," she said, with a straight face.

Christine was inwardly thrilled that now he was the one to be caught off-guard by astonishing news.

He pointed at her belly. "Is it...mine?"

"No, Detective Guiliano. This is not your baby. It's my fiancé's."

"Oh. Well, congratulations," he said, laughing nervously.

"Thank you," she smiled. "To what do I owe this sudden visit?"

"Well, uh, I thought that we could go out for a late dinner to talk and...well, obviously, you have other plans. I'm sorry about how everything ended between us, Christine."

"I'm sorry, too, Tony. Well, it's nice seeing you again. Take care of yourself, okay?" she said.

"Yeah, thanks. You too. See ya around."

After he left, she closed the door, proud that she had overcome that man.

"Honey, who was that?"

Harry stood at the bathroom door, brushing his teeth.

"That was someone looking for the Neilsons upstairs," she answered, not wanting Tony's presence to spoil Harry's mood.

"Oh. Hold on."

Harry went to gargle and wipe his mouth, ready to turn in for the night. He switched off the bathroom light and happily took his expecting fiancée into his arms.

"You know, I miss you as my public defender," he smiled.

Since Christine was assigned to another courtroom, Harry ended up with a replacement who was less than cheery as Christine, but was able to put Dan on his A-game. Yet, the benefits outweighed the loss for Harry since he moved in with Christine and was now planning their wedding to come before the birth of their child. Christine would have loved to be married first before her pregnancy, but she didn't want a quicky courthouse wedding to save face. They decided on a small, intimate setting in a private hall for their nuptials. Christine wished that she could had had an elaborate wedding like her royal idols, only with less pomp and circumstances and no tiaras. Yet, she still considered getting a tiara from a costume shop.

"How's the new public defender?"

"Ah, she's okay. I think that she's too much for Dan. Every time she comes into the courtroom, Dan literally hides under the desk until Bull coaxes him out," said Harry.

"Wasn't she a champion weightlifter?" asked Christine.

"Yep. And I thought at one point she was going to break me in half when I ruled against her client."

"Then she'll have to deal with me, Your Honor," grinned Christine.

Harry beamed as they went hand-in-hand into their bedroom where her Charles and Diana memorabilia lived in harmony with Harry's Mel Torme records and collector items.

As they settled in bed, Christine said, "I've been thinking of names for the baby."

"Yeah?" he smiled, caressing her midsection while propped up on one arm.

"Yeah," she replied. "If it's a boy, would you like for him to be a junior?"

Harry cringed. "What? And curse him with being 'Harry, Junior'? No, Christine."

"So, what do you have in mind?"

"Something masculine and practical...like Melvin," he smiled eagerly.

"Over my dead body we'll name our child after Mel Torme," said Christine, with finality.

"But Mel's a good name, Christine."

"No!"

Harry sulked.

"I have a good one: Charles," smiled Christine.

"As in Prince Charles?" asked Harry, with another cringe-worthy look.

"Yes. That's a good name and we could call him...Charlie. Charlie Stone. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Charlie Stone," said Harry, thoughtfully. "You know, that's not too bad. Charlie Stone. His Honor, Charles M. Stone, the son of the wittiest, yet charming, Judge Harold T. Stone."

"And what does the 'M' stands for, pray tell?" Christine asked, arms folded.

Harry smiled. "Melvin!"

"Oh, brother!" sighed Christine. "Okay, Harry. I'll allow it. Charles Melvin Stone, it is."

"Oh, thank you, darling!" he exclaimed, showering Christine with kisses.

"Okay, Harry, we need to think of a girl's name." she stated, playfully pushing him away.

"Melody!"

"No!"

"Awwww!"

After running down a few girl names, with Harry vehemently protesting against 'Diana,' the couple settled in for the night. Harry, who was too excited to sleep, laid a hand on his future wife's belly and caressed it.

"Whatever you turn out to be," he whispered, "just know that we'll love you all the same. Good night, Baby Stone."

He kissed Christine's stomach and turned over. Thinking about the months that passed by, Harry felt no regrets or angst for what took place between he and Christine. Yes, he admitted to being afraid to love her, but now he was glad that he took the chance. It may not have been ethical, but it felt so right to be with the woman he longed for. An Christine felt the same way for the judge who now constantly made her smile.


End file.
